


More Than A Machine

by OrionLady



Series: Figlio Mozzato [2]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionLady/pseuds/OrionLady
Summary: Dean clutched at Spike’s rigid grip on the gear shift. Spike jumped. Further concern filled the boy’s face and Spike loathed himself a little bit for putting it there.“What happened?” asked Dean. “Did you get hurt on a case?”Spike struggles in the wake of a case where the subject looked eerily liked Dean.





	More Than A Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Scott Helman's "More Than a Machine." Go give it a listen! The lyrics fit shockingly well with this fic and Spike as a whole.

'But you're more than bolts,  
Like the city's more than steel and stone.  
Soon your heart is gonna overflow.  
They push you back down you get up again.  
Circuits freeze and androids never dream:  
You're more than a machine.'

"More Than a Machine" ~ Scott Helman

“There’s the man of the hour!” Spike reached across to push open the passenger side door. His wince turned into a smile. “How does it feel to be seventeen?”

Dean hopped in after dumping his backpack on the floor. “Feels the same. Everyone’s freaking out about senior year but it’s just…meh, you know?”

“I don’t know.” Spike laughed. “But I’ll pretend I do. Sorry I missed the birthday bash.”

Dean waved him off. “It was just a small one at Clark’s house, some friends from the team and Mira.”

“Yes. Mira.”

Dean looked up from his phone long enough to give Spike an unimpressed look. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that dinner.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or the baby photos.”

“Uh-huh. Technically that was your father.”

“And I _wonder_ who put him up to it.”

Spike grinned. Teens filtered out the school doors, happy chatter and obnoxious, shrill voices that shot Spike’s mind years into the past. A reunion was coming up soon…

“Hey.” Dean put the phone completely down. “It’s Friday.”

“Very astute of you.”

Dean squinted at Spike, now glancing around his side mirrors to pull into traffic. The blinker’s ticking was the only sound for a moment.

“Dad always picks me up on Friday. Your days are Tuesdays and Thursdays and wait—is that blood?!”

A face appeared at Spike’s half-open window. “Ding, ding, ding! Give the boy a prize.”

Spike groaned. He flopped back against the headrest in defeat.

Greg rested his elbows on the lip of glass to lean _just _far enough in Spike’s space to make him squirmy. A little more violent than was necessary, Spike threw the car back into park.

“Dad?” Dean looked between them. “What’s going on?”

“That’s a _great_ question, son. One which came over me when I realized _someone _had bolted before debrief.” Greg leveled a glare at Spike. That was a first. “Care to elucidate, Spike?”

Spike kept his sullen silence and peeved gaze at Greg. His face throbbed.

Greg quirked an eyebrow, lips tight. It wasn’t his boss’s usual brand of expression, raw and unnerving. He caved in the face of it.

“Wanted to pick him up,” said Spike. “I missed his birthday.”

Greg reached out to tug gently at Spike’s lower lip and the gash across his cheekbone. He looked angry at the jagged splits. Spike’s teeth were still faintly stained pink. “Medical cleared you?”

“_Yes_.” Spike tried not to sound petulant.

“To drive?”

Spike hesitated.

Greg held out his hand at once. “Keys.”

“Busted,” Dean muttered.

“Technically yes, I am allowed to drive,” Spike spluttered, refusing to give in. He didn’t know why this was the hill we was willing to die on, but it was. “No head wound. No major blood loss. Just some bruising—”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

Greg’s eyes bugged. “Does it…Spike! Yes, it matters!”

Dean clutched at Spike’s rigid grip on the gear shift. Spike jumped. Further concern filled the boy’s face and Spike loathed himself a little bit for putting it there.

“What happened?” asked Dean. “Did you get hurt on a case?”

Spike and Greg shared a look.

Greg didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not mad at what happened today. You did the right thing, however misguided.”

Spike looked over in surprise at that one. He’d been waiting for the lecture all day.

Dean, wisely, waited out the silent showdown. He squeezed Spike’s arm and Spike relaxed a little. He didn’t want Dean to see how much today shook him.

“Let me do this,” said Spike in a low voice. “After what happened, I want to…”

He stopped himself, not sure how to—or if he should—say it.

Greg, though clearly worried, just nodded slowly. “Only if you drive him home instead of to your apartment. It’s Friday.”

This time Dean nudged him. “Pizza night.”

Spike blinked. “Right.”

Greg’s hand hovered over Spike’s ribs, the injuries he was too well trained to not be aware of. “Are you sure you’re…present enough to drive right now?”

“I drove here, didn’t I?” Spike was peeved again.

Dean huffed a sound of wonderment at the fight. The two never fought. His eyes burned with curiosity but when he finally did speak, he took both Spike and Greg off guard.

“There’s an obvious solution here.”

“Oh?” Greg turned the polygraph stare onto his son. “Which would be?”

Dean held his head high. “Let me drive!”

In mock exaggeration, Greg gasped. “Quick, Spike! Go before he kills an old lady!”

“Hey!” Dean leaned over but stopped when Spike badgered him to buckle up. “I’ll have you know I am a fantastic driver! I scored higher than Clark _and_ Dom. The teacher said my back-in parking was ‘inspired.’ And then there was the parallel parking test that I…”

He was still arguing his case when Spike drove off. Greg waved in the rear view mirror.

Dean sat back, feathers ruffled yet looking strangely smug. “Gotta assert myself somehow.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Is this about the wanting to be a cop thing?”

Dean was quiet. Spike had learned to read that quiet, even without looking over at him. His hand tightened around the wheel in sympathy.

“He was super mad when I told him.”

“The day your Cornell acceptance letter came?”

Dean nodded. “He wants me to be a lawyer.”

“But that’s not what you want. And he’s not mad, Dean.”

“Uh. Yeah. He so is.”

Spike shook his head. “Do you know what Greg said, when he came into the locker room the morning after you told him?”

Spike kept one eye on the road but he reached over to squeeze the nape of Dean’s shoulder. “He said he was _proud_. I’ve never seen him glow like that.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyes swelled. “He said that?”

“He did. What he really felt when you told him was fear. He was scared you’d end up like him. This job, it…it’ll change you. Makes people jaded.”

A queer look passed over Dean’s face. His brow creased into paper folds Spike couldn’t read and his eyes stared out into a middle distance he wasn’t seeing.

“Not you, though.”

“What do you mean, not me?” Spike canted his head.

“I knew I could pull off being a cop when I met you. You’re what solidified it.”

The blank shock of that blossomed over Spike’s face. “…Me?”

“Mhmm.” Dean nodded once, resolute. “You have, like, a huge heart for people. But you’re not angry or bitter or anything.”

Spike thought about this. “That’s because I had people in my life who supported me through the crap times. Because there _will_ be traumatic calls. It’s not a question of if but when.”

“I know that.” And he seemed to. Dean was calm about the horrors he knew he would see. “Dad became an alcoholic because he didn’t have anyone to help him.”

Spike blew out a breath. Floored by the boy’s insightful perspective on an issue cops rarely talked about, if ever. “That’s right. But this job still changed me, Dean. I’m not the bright eyed kid I was when I started.”

Dean shifted to look Spike directly in the eye, in the brief moments Spike turned from the road to match it.

There was something old in that look, something of Greg and something purely Dean. Spike’s respect grew.

“Would you change who you are now?” Dean asked. “Would you go back and choose a different career if you saw where this one would take you?”

Spike wanted to blurt the gut answer but he did Dean the service of thinking about it. There was a case for both sides. He was smarter now, stronger, yet he knew things he wished he didn’t. Had seen atrocities no recruitment brochure dared touch.

But in the end, Spike circled back to his original answer: “No. Not for all the pay raises in the world.”

Dean smiled.

Spike ruffled his hair like Ed did to him all the time. “I like who it’s made me.”

“Me too.”

The unexpected burn behind Spike’s eyes he chalked up to the rough day. Not this candid kid and his blinding heart.

“You know, my father didn’t like my career choice either.”

If he had Dean’s attention before, the boy was glued now. “No way.”

“Way. He wasn’t the most…nurturing. That was all my mom.”

If Dean sensed the understatement in these words, he didn’t point it out.

“But you did it anyway. Became a cop.”

Spike held out his free hand in a ‘ta-da!’ motion. “Give your dad some time. I talked to him about it, about how my father didn’t support me and I made my choice anyway.”

“I know he loves me. No matter what I choose.”

“You bet he does!” Spike snickered at the boy’s blush. “It’s always ‘Dean aced this’ or ‘look at this picture of Dean catching the ball’ or ‘Dean’s so great at—’ ”

“Alright, alright.” Dean slapped at his arm. “Don’t make it weird!”

Spike didn’t show his twinge of pain at the motion. Just kept smiling and raised a hand in surrender.

When they pulled into the drive, Greg was honest-to-God standing there consulting his watch. Spike wondered if he was a magician, to pull off arriving before they did. Maybe he’d used his siren to beat traffic.

“This is your stop, caboose,” said Spike.

Dean shoved him again. “Stop calling me that.”

“Sure thing…sprout.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. I take it back. Caboose is a great nickname.” Dean hopped out with a look at Spike. “Just don’t you ever call me that at school.”

Spike nodded to Greg and shifted to back out. Greg flapped a hand.

“Boss?” Spike stopped, parked, and leaned his head out. “Everything okay?”

“No, no.”

He proceeded to poke his hand inside Spike’s car and _turn it off_. Spike stared at him.

“You’re eating with us—especially after today. Don’t make me order you.” Greg lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can bear having you out of sight for a bit, okay?”

Dean, missing this last part, flashed Spike the cheekiest grin he’d ever worn and winked. “Yeah, _Sonic_.”

The nickname took a second to sink in. When it did, Spike was too tired to be upset. He just ran a hand down his face and followed Greg into the house.

“Please tell me you can do better than that.”

Dean giggled and wiggled a wet finger in Spike’s ear like he’d just turned seven and not seventeen. “I could but why bother? You’re just too easy.”

Amidst this banter, they somehow got Spike seated at the table with a paper plate loaded with an obscene amount of pesto pizza before he could argue.

Christmas decorations were still up, despite it being nearly March. It was only Dean’s second Christmas here and Spike sensed Greg’s need to make it last, especially with him off to university—or the Academy—next year.

Spike smiled faintly at the memory of he and Dean trying to chop down a tree. Greg laughing at them both from the sidelines.

He unwound, just a little bit, and let the sight of Dean—talking with his mouth full, telling an animated story about how Clark beat the star athlete at a game of pickup basketball—lower his shoulders away from his ears.

Greg saw it, of course.

But he only nodded, mouthing three words:

‘_You got him_.’ 

* * *

“I picked it up, Dean! You need a light bulb for your project, right? I—”

“Sssshhh! Quiet!” Dean’s frantic flapping, when he ran around the corner, startled Greg. He set the grocery bags down, wondering if he should prepare for the worst, and Dean hissed, “Don’t wake him up.”

Greg toed off his shoes. He followed Dean through the living room to the kitchen.

Slumped over the table, Spike had his head pillowed on his arms. At this angle, it was hard to see his face, though he’d clearly shifted at some point, exposing the nub of his scar. Hair everywhere.

Wires were strewn around the diorama, Dean’s science project, and…

“Is that a lock picking kit?” Greg whispered.

“Late birthday gift. Spike gave me the ‘never use it for evil’ speech, don’t worry.”

Greg huffed, jaw flexing. A lock picking set! They were illegal for heaven’s sake!

Dean planted himself firmly over Spike’s sleeping form with a peculiar, intense look at Greg.

It took a moment to recognize it.

_A warning._ He’d probably picked the look up from Ed. It did funny things to Greg’s chest to see it on his son_._

The stance was glaringly protective. Though younger, even Dean had a soft, defensive spot for Spike. Just like they all did.

“I asked him for it,” Dean whispered in explanation, further trying to save Spike the tongue lashing. “He said it would be more useful than hotwiring cars anyway.”

At this, Greg couldn’t help the fond grin that stole over his features. He loved this kid. Both of them.

Greg beckoned Dean into the living room. It was Tuesday, Spike’s turn to cook for Dean after school, but Greg hadn’t realized how tired the young man was. The least Greg could do was let him sleep in peace.

Before he could start, Dean blurted out a question of his own. “What happened on Friday, the case?”

Greg sat next to his son on the couch. He puffed out a long breath while thinking how to answer, how to tell his son that Spike almost died.

Dean seemed to read some of it on his face. “Did you guys have to kill someone? Bad call?”

“It was a bad call alright, but it was successful. Nobody died, Dean.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “But Spike, the blood…”

“An emotionally distressed teenager got in a few hits at Spike’s face.” Greg added in an exasperated mumble, “Had to physically restrain Eddie from shooting him.”

“Why was he hurting Spike?”

Greg swallowed. Looked his son in his beautiful, innocent brown eyes. “Because Spike was trying to save his life.”

Dean reeled. He leaned back, eyes darting, brow scrunched.

“Not every call is bad guys versus cops,” Greg said, soft. “Sometimes it’s a person versus themselves.”

“Not black and white.”

Greg wrapped an arm around Dean. “You got it. You’re a smart kid. And…as much as it pains me…you’re going to make an amazing cop.”

Dean whirled on him. Mouth agape.

Greg brushed some hair out of Dean’s eyes. “Spike disobeyed a direct order on Friday, you know. He was supposed to negotiate from a safe distance, talk the jumper down off an office rooftop. He wasn’t even wearing a harness.”

“He didn’t, though. He got close enough for the kid to hit him.”

Greg snorted, trying to shake the painful memory away. “Wanted to throttle him. It was impulse on Spike’s part. I get it.”

“Impulse?” Dean frowned. “Why?”

Greg licked his lips. He indulged a moment of soaking Dean’s face in. The mirror of his own nose and the twin shells of his ears peeking around bushy brown locks.

Greg’s voice dropped to a hushed murmur. “Because the kid looked like you, Dean. Eerily like you.”

Dean rocked. His head landed on Greg’s shoulder. “Oh.”

“He was your age, too. Spike didn’t just get close enough to take a few blows. The kid jumped and Spike grabbed his wrist. We…we lost sight of him when he got dragged over the railing…”

Greg stopped. His hand covered his unsteady lips for a beat. Dean just gazed at him. His eyes were upset too.

“He was holding on to the railing with his left and the kid in his right.” Greg sighed, deep breathing exercises working their course and leaving him tired. “Nearly tore him in half but he did it. We got them both safely over. The teen said after that he regretted jumping the moment his feet left the roof. Even thanked Spike.”

Dean clutched at his father’s arm in sudden understanding. “That’s why he went straight to my school, to pick me up. He needed to see me.”

Greg didn’t reply and the house was silent for a long stretch.

Dean lifted his head. “Those are the kind of cases that make me want to _be_ a cop, Dad. I don’t want it for the guns or power. I want it because someone needs to be there for the kid on a roof.”

Greg thought he might keel over. He squeezed Dean. “You’re so much like me that it’s terrifying.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Dean reasoned. “You’re the kind of guy I want to be.”

Yep. Greg could die now. Nothing could top this, surely.

An idea struck him all at once. “How would you feel about a ride along?”

“Ride along?” Dean’s eyes sparked. “Like I’d actually get to watch you guys work a case? That would be awesome!”

Greg heard a rustle from the kitchen and raised his voice. “You can keep an eye on Spike for me. Make sure he doesn’t get lost in that big brain of his.”

“Can Clark come too? I’ll call him!” Dean hugged him. “Thanks, Dad!”

Dean seemed to forget about keeping his voice down, bounding off the couch and up the stairs. It didn’t matter, in the end.

Spike appeared in the doorway, arms folded and eyes tired. But they were smiling. His bedhead was at epic levels that threw tentacle shadows on the wall.

“You’d better apologize to Clark,” he said. “And me—wouldn’t want my big brain to cook up some punishment prank.”

Greg snorted. “Too late, me thinks.”

“I’m proud of you, boss. For seeing past what you want.”

Greg shook his head, self deprecation knocking at his mind. “For letting that shining heart run away with him?”

“No.” Spike wouldn’t let him look away. “For letting him be like you.”

Greg eyed him sharply.

Spike shrugged one shoulder, a very Dean-like motion. “You gave him your heart, boss. To ask him not to use it would be a heinous crime.”

_He’s right_. Greg saw it, knew the truth, even if it scared him.

“By that same reasoning, I’m proud of you,” said Greg.

Spike straightened. “Boss, I disobeyed a direct order. I put my life—and therefore yours—at risk for my own gut reaction.”

Greg stood and put both hands on Spike’s shoulders. “You did what I would have done.”

Spike opened his mouth, apparently lost any semblance of words, and closed it again.

“You weren’t a cop in that moment, Spike. You were _human_. Just one soul trying to save another. How can I fault that?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. Trying to read what in Greg’s face, he had no idea.

“Dean’s going to be a triple threat cop, you know,” said Spike. “Smart, dripping with compassion, athletic.”

Greg tapped Spike’s chest. “He’s got big shoes to fill.”

Spike barked a laugh. “Me, athletic? Let’s not go that far.”

As if summoned, Dean appeared at the top of the stairs and leaned down, one hand over the cell at his ear.

“Clark says he’ll come…”

Spike smiled. “Double trouble. That’s great, Dean.”

Greg heard a hesitation. “What’s the catch?”

“He says he’ll only do it if he doesn’t have to ride with Ed.”

Spike was still laughing about that one Monday morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 2019.


End file.
